For most the holidays are a time for family gatherings, big dinners, watching the snowfall, decorating the Christmas tree, and giving loved ones gifts.

I remember my sister and I waking up at 5 a.m., or earlier, and racing down the stairs. Our eyes widened as we were greeted by a large decorated, lighted Christmas tree with dozens of wrapped gifts lining the floor at the base of the tree — something that was not there when we went to bed. My mom would stay up all night wrapping the toys and games she had purchased over the last couple months in order to surprise us when we awoke Christmas morning.

After we would open presents, we would then go to my maternal grandmother’s house in Benwood to join aunts, uncles and cousins for lunch and gift exchanges, before venturing to my paternal grandmother’s house in Glen Dale to do the same there.

This was our family tradition every single year for as long as I can remember.

Playing with our toys and watching the adults gather around the table to play games including a favorite, Rummikub, a board game that we would learn eventually would play as well.

However, this changed when I was 15 years old.

My mother, a military police officer in the U.S. Army, was deployed to Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom in 2003. That was the first Christmas we spent apart and none of us really felt in the holiday spirit.

The following year we were prepared for the same. My dad took us shopping and let us pick out our own gifts that we then placed under the tree.

On Christmas morning 2004, my sister and I made our way down the stairs toward the tree. There was not much excitement again.

That was until we looked up to see my dad standing at the bottom of the stairs.

He already had his coat on, his phone in his hand, and told us to get dressed, we were going to the airport. My mom was coming home. We darted up the stairs, threw on a coat and shoes and raced out the door. We could hardly contain our excitement as we made our way to Pittsburgh International Airport.

By that time, my mom had been overseas for around 18 months.

A million thoughts raced through my head. I had so much to tell her in what had transpired over the last year and a half and what she had missed.

I can still remember us standing inside the airport, still in our pajamas, eagerly watching every single person walk through the airport waiting to see my mom walk into the waiting area.

It seemed like an eternity. As soon as we caught a glimpse of her dressed in her uniform carrying her rucksack, we took off in a sprint toward her.

Surprisingly, I don’t remember much of the remainder of that day, just running into her arms and telling her how much I loved her and had missed her while she was gone.

These days many of my family members have moved away to nearby states while others are across the country, so we don’t always have such large get-togethers anymore.

But every year, my sister and I still have dinner with my mom — a tradition that will always remain.

In the last couple of years, we now have dinner at my house with my husband, Michael, and I cooking all of our family favorites — sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, scallop potatoes, corn, and of course, a ham cooked in the oven with sprite and decorated with pineapple rings.

We also make our way to my maternal grandmother’s house for lunch. Though there are fewer of us in attendance, it is always a lovely time and I am grateful to be able to spend the holidays with my family.

I still reminisce about our family holidays. I can barely recall any of the presents I opened during my childhood, just the memories of us all being together, laughing and sharing a meal and stories around the dining room table. I think that is the most important thing to remember during this time of year.